Friday at 11:45 a.m.
The executive boardroom on the fiftieth floor of the Sterling Building was full.
Ten board members sat around the mahogany table.
Arthur stood at the head, looking appropriately solemn.
Sloane sat in the corner, holding a leather folder of my “medical records.”
“Gentlemen,” Arthur said, his voice thick with rehearsed grief. “You all know how much I love my wife. But her mental decline has become undeniable.”
The board members murmured in sympathy.
“For the sake of the company, and for her own safety, I am asking the board to activate the medical proxy clause,” Arthur continued. “I will assume the role of CEO indefinitely.”
Sloane stood up.
“As her primary care consultant, I can confirm that her condition is degenerative and permanent,” Sloane lied smoothly.
The lead board member sighed. “This is a tragedy, Arthur. We will, of course, support the transition.”
Arthur picked up his pen to sign the transfer documents.
Then, the heavy glass doors of the boardroom swung open.
Chapter 4 – The Diagnosis
I walked into the boardroom.
I was not wearing the oversized sweaters and slippers Sloane had dressed me in for months.
I wore a tailored crimson power suit.
My hair was perfect.
My posture was straight.
My eyes were completely, terrifyingly clear.
Arthur dropped the pen. The blood drained from his face so fast he looked like a corpse.
“Clara?” he choked out. “What are you doing here? You should be in bed.”
“I’m feeling much better,” I said, walking to the head of the table. “I stopped taking the poison your mistress was feeding me.”
Sloane jumped up. “She’s having a paranoid delusion! Someone call security!”
I snapped my fingers.
Vance, my fixer, walked into the room carrying a stack of files.
He was followed by two agents from the FBI.
“I don’t think security is necessary,” I said. “The federal authorities will do.”
I tossed a thick folder onto the center of the table.
“That is a certified toxicology report,” I told the board. “Proving my husband has been illegally drugging me with black-market antipsychotics.”
Arthur backed away from the table. “That’s a lie!”
I tossed a second folder down.
“And those are the wire transfers proving Arthur embezzled twelve million dollars of company funds to buy a French estate for his wellness coach.”
The board members gasped, scrambling to open the folders.
Sloane tried to run for the side door.
An FBI agent stepped in her path.
“Sit down, Miss,” the agent commanded.
Arthur looked at me, his eyes wide with absolute terror.
“Clara, please,” he whispered, abandoning his confident facade. “It was her idea. She manipulated me.”
Sloane spun around. “You lying coward!”
I looked at the man who had tried to erase my mind to steal my father’s empire.
“You wanted a medical diagnosis, Arthur?” I asked coldly.
Chapter 5 – The Clean Bill of Health
Six months later.
The Sterling Building was quiet on a Friday afternoon.
I sat at the head of the mahogany boardroom table, signing the final quarter’s profit reports.
The company had never been stronger.
Arthur and Sloane were currently serving fifteen-year sentences in federal prison for conspiracy, fraud, and reckless endangerment.
Their trial had been a media circus.
They had turned on each other instantly, each trying to trade the other for a reduced sentence.
The judge hadn’t bought either of their stories.
The French chateau had been seized and sold.
I kept the money.
My assistant knocked on the glass door.
“Ms. Sterling,” she said. “Your doctor’s office called with the results of your annual physical.”
I didn’t look up from my paperwork.
“And?”
“A perfect bill of health,” she smiled. “He said you have the heart rate of a marathon runner.”
“Thank you,” I said.
I closed the folder and looked out the floor-to-ceiling windows at the Manhattan skyline.
Arthur had spent three months trying to convince me I was weak, broken, and losing my mind.
He had forgotten one very simple rule about trying to break a woman.
If you don’t finish the job, she will wake up.
